


take my love and wear it

by pipistrelle



Series: there is a season [13]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Cloth Magic, Families of Choice, Family Fluff, Family Relationships - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Making Clothes, Thread Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 00:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2130564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipistrelle/pseuds/pipistrelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandry learns that it's not an easy thing, being left behind. Family fluff between the CoM series and The Circle Opens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take my love and wear it

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sara Bareilles' song 'The Light', from the line "take my love and wear it over your shoulders"
> 
> This started as a discussion of Sandry making clothes for the other three, based on the prompt "armor". It got away from me a little.
> 
> Posting from my phone, so please forgive any formatting weirdness.

It all happened so _fast_. Of course there had been vague talk for months, offhanded comments -- of rare plants Rosethorn would like to see in person, of mage conferences that Niko wished he could show Tris. Nothing concrete, certainly nothing like a plan.

Then one day as they were coming in from the garden for midday Rosethorn looked thoughtfully at Briar, pursed her lips, and said, "Well, I suppose it would do you some good to see something of the world outside these walls. And I don't dare let you run free without someone sensible to keep an eye on you."

So it was settled; Rosethorn and Briar would be leaving for Gyongxe and Yanjing, a journey of at least two years, probably closer to four. Then Frostpine was writing to his old friends, and Niko was writing to his, and by the end of Snow Moon it was decided that most of Sandry's family would be scattered to the winds at the start of the following spring.

"They'll need new clothes for the road," Lark told Sandry over supper, the day Frostpine had shown Daja the letter from his Namornese friend inviting the smith and his apprentice to spend the winter in their house. "You have a great deal of work to do, and not very much time. The spelled silk can wait a few weeks; why don't you get started in the morning?"

That meant fittings, usually a trying process. Tris would be still as a stone as long as she could read, but as soon as they needed her to bring the book away from her face, she would start to fidget and fuss. Sandry knew Briar could be calm and silent as an oak -- she'd seen him lie on his belly in the garden and stare at a dandelion without moving for an hour at a time -- but he took positive delight in moving and whining and filching pins when his sister wanted him to be still. Usually only Daja endured the process patiently, pointing out to the other two the whole while how much less time it took when you just let the thread-mages do what needed to be done.

Under ordinary circumstances, Sandry would have declared that getting all three of her siblings fitted for entirely new wardrobes in one evening was completely impossible. Tonight, though, they were so absorbed with their travels that they had no trouble standing quietly while she worked -- even Briar, who chattered excitedly at Rosethorn over Sandry's head and didn't move a muscle.

Her eyes started to blur as she finished Briar's arm measurements. By the time she was through with Daja, she'd started breathing in the meditation pattern, each breath to a count of seven, to keep herself under control.

She determinedly avoided anyone's eyes as she put away her things -- not exactly a difficult task, since they were all absorbed in plans of their own anyway. All of them except Lark, who looked searchingly at Sandry as she handed her student the paper she'd noted the measurements on. Sandry kept her chin up, biting her lower lip to keep it from trembling.

A faint frown passed over Lark's face. "Do you want any help? This is quite a big project, and there's no reason for you to do it alone."

"I'll be fine." Sandry nearly winced at the sound of her own voice. She was curt and snappish, like -- _like Rosethorn_ , she thought. She crumpled the sheet of measurements in one fist and marched past Lark, not wanting to look into that concerned gaze anymore until she'd had some time to herself.

She would apologize for her rudeness later -- right now she had work to do.

* * *

 

There was a part of her that wanted to be bitter about having to make the clothes that the others would wear on their adventures, but in fact the work itself was a welcome relief.

Sandry settled herself and her supplies at Lark's worktable and decided to start with Tris, bound for the most prestigious halls of mundane and magical learning as a student of the renowned Niklaren Goldeye. There would be a delicate balance to strike there, Sandry knew. While the Winding Circle initiates were content with their plain habits, mages outside the temple walls were notorious peacocks and would scorn anyone they considered shabbily dressed.

Tris would face enough scorn from the mere fact of being a student, a teenager with a Winding Circle medallion, and her own bookish self. She would need to command respect from foreign mages who were foremost in their nations and in their disciplines, yet she herself would refuse to wear any clothing she saw as frivolous or foolish. Trying to create something that would satisfy Tris' frugality and a mage's pride was absorbing work, and Sandry happily lost herself in it.

When she was satisfied with the first designs, she turned her attention to the cloth itself, sturdy wool that she fortified the same as she did anything intended for use by Tris. Sandry's charms against wind and water were much stronger than anything woven into an ordinary raincape; she used wind-wards and storm-shields of the sort usually placed on sailcloth, learned from sailors in Summersea in return for a few hours' work mending hammocks, sails, and nets. The sailors themselves had marveled at it, protesting that a noble lady could not possibly want to do such work, but the knowledge had served Sandry well. Any garment of Tris' could withstand a ship-killer storm, whether on land or at sea.

Briar's needs were simpler; toughness to withstand nettles and thorns, wards to keep off dirt and leaf-litter which would work as well on the road as in the garden. For him she was careful to add ties and thin sheaths of hemp to the insides of his sleeves and certain other points. She didn't like him carrying knives, but he was going to carry them whether she liked it or not, so the least she could do was be sure the ties that held them would listen to him when he needed.

Thinking of the knives, she thought of what he might need knives to face, and went back over his tunics and trousers to draw stronger signs of protection against tearing, signs of holding and flexibility. No cloth could truly withstand a knife, silk least of all, but _this_ silk was certainly going to try. She folded herself into the weave, her thoughts half on the magic, half on the imagined threat. In her mind she held some dark spot in one of the mighty marble palaces of Yanjing, a shadowy figure approaching, the glint of a blade stabbing for blood -- and a white-hot flare of her power poured into the silk as it tried to bend itself to her will, tried to become armor. If a knife wanted Briar, it would have to go through _her_!

The silk was glowing when she let it go. She wasn't sure whether the faint silvery nimbus was only in her magical sight, or if it was an actual glow, and she didn't stop to wonder at it. She was already reaching for the next piece of cloth, this one destined as a tunic for Daja. Into it she poured strength against fire -- not just forge-fire, but devouring fire like the blaze that had left Daja's hand coated in living brass. The thought of Briar in a knife-fight had made her giddy with anger and anxiety. If Daja somehow got herself trapped in another forest fire, she wouldn't have Sandry there to help -- or Tris, or Briar, or Niko. Frostpine would be there, but what if his strength wasn't enough?

No harm would come to Daja; Sandry would not permit it. This time the cloth glowed brilliantly when she took her hands away, chasing shadows from the corner of the room. She watched as the light slowly sank, settling into the weave like silt to the bottom of a clear lake. Then, just as slowly, the cloth began to unravel, crumbling under the weight of the magic she'd bound to it.

"No you don't," Sandry murmured, and sent more power into the weave, trying to strengthen it. Where her magic touched, the threads collapsed into dust. "No!" she cried. "You will hold. I _order_ you to hold!"

The last few inches of Daja's shirt vanished through her fingers. Across the table, Briar's tunic of armor-silk was degrading more slowly, coming apart at the seams she'd stitched so carefully. "Stop!" she commanded it. The threads stirred, wanting to obey, but the strain was too much. Even as she reached for it the tunic was gone.

Tears stung at the corners of her eyes. She dashed them away impatiently and gathered the skeins of her power. Was she a thread-mage, or wasn't she? She could do this. She would do this. She just had to make the weave stronger, that was all.

* * *

 

She had burned through nearly a yard of cloth before Lark's hand on her shoulder brought her back to herself. "You'll exhaust yourself that way, I'm afraid."

Sandry realized all at once how she must look, with her dress and the table covered in thread-dust and protective powders, half-magicked scraps glimmering and shifting amid the ruins. It was worse than an embarrassment, it was sloppy work -- the remains of a child's tantrum.

Instead of scolding her, Lark only squeezed her shoulder. "I should have realized at dinner that you were upset. You don't have to stay here, you know -- we can find you a teacher to take you to see the dyeworks in Sotat, or you could go to Namorn with Frostpine and Daja. I know you have relatives there."

Sandry stared dismally down at the wreckage on the table and said nothing. Lark cleared the bench beside her of thread-dust and sat down, resting her chin in her hands with a faint smile. "Or I could try my wings out in the world again."

"I couldn't make you leave," Sandry protested. "I know you love it here. Anyways, I don't want to travel, especially not to Namorn. Uncle is much better company than any of my Namornese cousins, and he actually has a use for me."

Lark was sympathetic. "You just don't want the others to leave?"

"I don't want them to _want_ to leave," Sandry said miserably. She could feel the tears start, but before she could reach for her handkerchief she found Lark already offering hers. "So many dreadful things have happened, and we all came through -- because we were together! What happens if they're out there alone and there's another fire, or a plague, or an earthquake? Or something even worse?" She wiped her eyes with Lark's handkerchief, and added in a smaller voice, "They aren't even upset about us all being apart for so long. They don't even _care_."

Lark put a comforting arm around her. "Of course they care. Leaving home doesn't mean they love it any less. They're just excited now, and focusing on the adventure ahead. This is something they need to do, each for their own reasons, and they'll come back the stronger for it." She lightly touched the remains of Briar's tunic. The threads moved to follow her fingertips, like flowers turning towards the sun. "And no matter where they are or what they're doing, when they wear something you've made, you'll be in their thoughts."

"I don't care about that," Sandry sniffed, although she did, a little. "I just want them to be safe." She hesitated, then asked, "What about you? Aren't you upset about Rosethorn leaving?"

Lark thought for a long moment, tracing patterns in the thread-dust with the tip of one finger. "I'll miss her terribly," she said at last. "And Briar, and Daja, and Tris -- and Niko and Frostpine."

Sandry looked at her with disbelief. "You won't miss Niko and Frostpine the same as _Rosethorn_."

"No, I won't," Lark admitted. "I'll be lonely without her, but she needs this as much as Briar does. She's felt so -- _limited_ , I think, since she's been ill. It will do her a great deal of good to be out in the world for a time. And my love for her would be a poor, bitter sort of thing if I used it to stand in the way of what she needs."

"You're right, of course," Sandry sighed. "It's selfish of me to want to them to stay."

"Sadness at having to say goodbye to people you love is nothing to be ashamed of," Lark said gently. "You'd hardly be human without a little selfishness of that sort. It's a hard thing, being left behind."

Lark was trying to be reassuring, but Sandry could still hear the deep sorrow in her teacher's voice. She threw her arms around Lark's waist. "I'll _never_ leave you behind."

"You will someday, my heart's own," Lark said softly, stroking the girl's hair. "And it'll be a glad day for us both, since it will mean you're growing up. But it's my own selfish hope that that day won't be for a long while yet." She took a deep breath, and Sandry let her go. "Now come on, let's get this cleaned up. I can help you finish this piece for tonight, if you'd like. There are ways of binding magic into the weave that won't put so much stress on each thread."

Sandry shook her head. "I think I'll just start again tomorrow."

Lark nodded and turned her attention to the worktable. She swept her hands in wide passes a few inches over the surface, each time encouraging more of the grains of thread-dust to roll into a single pile near the center. Sandry rescued the scraps of the cloth that were left, bundling them together with red thread and placing a binding charm on them as Lark had taught her, to ensure that no magic leaked out to interfere with any other nearby spells.

They worked quietly for perhaps ten minutes, until Sandry could bear her curiosity no longer. "Are you going to make new clothes for Rosethorn?"

Lark smiled without look up from her pile of thread-dust. "Rosie and I have been together so long, I doubt she owns a thing that didn't come off my loom. I may weave her a new silk habit, in case she and Briar end up the guests of nobles, or even kings. She won't be pleased to have to wear anything finer than her ordinary clothes, but she may need to if she's not to give offense."

Sandry frowned, thinking back to the travel plans discussed over dinner that evening. "I thought she said they'll stay with village healers and farmers."

"That's what she'd like best. But she does tend to underestimate how well-known she is outside the temple walls." Lark cupped her hands on the surface of the table. Obediently, the pile of dust rolled into her palms, until she could deposit it into the square of undyed, unmagicked silk that Sandry held open for her. "And I'll make them all blankets and packs for the road, and mage-kits that are sturdy enough for long travel. I'd like your help on those, in fact, if you aren't too busy -- the layers of protective spells can get quite complicated, and it's easier for two mages to keep them from overlapping. And it's magic you should be familiar with, in any case."

"Of course I won't be too busy!" Lark laughed at Sandry's indignant response, and Sandry couldn't help but smile. "All right, I'll probably be very busy," she admitted. "But of course I'll still find time to help you."

"Then we'll get started in the morning." Lark folded the square of silk and tied it with another red thread, putting it aside to be taken to the Hub for proper disposal. "Now it's off to bed, I think. We'll all need our rest if we're to have everything ready by Carp Moon."

"We'll manage," Sandry said firmly. For the first time in days she seemed back to her old determined self.

Lark smiled and kissed her on the forehead. "Indeed we will."

* * *

 

They were waiting for her, all three of them, in the quiet, comfortable dark behind her eyes. As Sandry settled into bed, getting ready to drift off to sleep, she felt them just outside the barriers she'd put up to keep them from intruding on her self-pitying thoughts.

But if she only had a short time before they left her, however temporarily, she wasn't going to waste it in self-pity. With a sigh, she dropped her barriers and let them in.

Daja spoke first, her voice warm and comforting as a banked fire in the darkness. _Is something wrong_ , saati? _It's not like you to shut us out._

 _You've been awful quiet all day_ , Briar added. _Without all your chattering in my head, I_ _could nearly hear myself think_.

 _Only nearly_? Tris' voice was wry. _You'd better learn to think louder. Soon you won't have any of us in your head chattering at you_.

 _Hush, both of you_ , Daja ordered. _Sandry, what's the matter?_

 _Nothing_ , she answered. _I've just been thinking about your new wardrobes, that's all. I didn't want you snooping before I'm done._

 _Nothing frilly on mine_ , Briar announced.

 _Or mine_. That was Tris.

Daja was more pragmatic. _Mine can have frills, they'll just get burned off_.

Sandry grinned even though they couldn't see it. _But you'd all look so distinguished in courtly dress_ , she said wickedly. _I've heard that in Yanjing, they sew little bells into their sleeves to ward off ghosts_ \--

 _The ghosts can eat me_ , Briar said firmly. _No bells. I'm a grown-up mage, not a cat_!

Daja sent them all the image of Rosethorn wearing a habit decked out with little bells that jingled as she rode, her scowling face heralded by tinkling music. The thought sent all four of them into bursts of laughter muffled by blankets and pillows.

In the pause after the hilarity had died down, Sandry said softly, _it'll be strange, us being apart._

 _Don't worry_ , Briar assured her. _I'll be such a pest all through the winter, by Carp Moon you'll be glad to be rid of me._

 _Thanks ever so, Briar,_ Sandry retorted. Her mental voice was cheerful enough, and she was deeply thankful that her friends weren't in the room to see the faint glimmer of tears in the glow of her night-lamp.

 _It'll be my pleasure_. Briar paused, suddenly suspicious. Sandry could feel his attention sharpen as he focused on her. _Is that what's got your skirts in a knot?_

 _It is, isn't it_? Daja asked.

Sandry wiped her eyes with the hem of her blanket, sniffling quietly so as not to wake Lark in the next room. _It's fine, all right? Let's not talk about it now. We've got the whole winter, after all._

 _You mean you_ don't _want to tell us all about your mushy feelings?_ Briar demanded. _Who are you and what have you done with Sandry?_

 _Leave her alone_ , snapped Tris. _If she doesn't want to talk, she doesn't want to talk. You never know when to leave a person in peace._

 _And you do_? Briar seemed to find that funnier than the image of Rosethorn covered in bells.

 _Speaking of peace, I'd like to get some sleep tonigh_ t, Daja interjected. _Frostpine and I are repairing the hinges on the temple gates tomorrow._

 _Fine_. Tris cut the link to her siblings, retreating into her own mind without so much as bidding them good night. _Tomorrow's cough syrup for me_ , Briar said, then he was gone, too.

 _You worry too much,_ Daja told Sandry. _You don't lose family just by traveling_. In her mind were thoughts of ships and caravans, long journeys that ended in reunion and celebration.

 _I know_. Sandry rolled over in her bed, pulling the blankets up over her head. _Good night, Daja_.

 _Good night_. Daja withdrew into her own thoughts, leaving Sandry with hers.

Despite her friends' reassurances, Sandry's thoughts were gloomier than she liked. Without looking out from under the covers, she reached towards her night-lamp where it sat on her bedside table. Underneath it was the small velvet pouch she usually kept on a string around her neck. Inside, her questing fingers found the lumpy circle of string that held all four of their magics, together and whole. It was warm to the touch, and seemed to hum with the power it held, a ceaseless calm sound like the rush of the sea.

More than anything else, that comforted her. _If we're like the sea, distance won't matter,_ she said to herself firmly _. Of course Daja and Lark are right._

They would manage, she and Lark. They had come through plagues and pirates and forest fires; what was a little loneliness compared to that? Nothing at all. And before she knew it, everyone would come home and they could all go back to being a family again.

With that thought she tucked the thread circle under her pillow and closed her eyes, letting it sing her to sleep.


End file.
